The Harry Pot
by The Legendary Olympians
Summary: Harry Potter has been turned into a pot (pun intended) by none other than Mr. Riddle. (Or Good Old Voldy, whichever you prefer.) What starts out as the result of anger management problems quickly turns into a game for Voldy and a desperate scramble to (hopefully) become a human again for Harry.


**DISCLAIMER: Don't care that we got no good grammar here and don't own the HP series, because in that story down there is where THE REAL magic happens.**

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"_99 people want a pot, 99 people here. Store owner comes, gives one a pot, you got 98 people who want a pot."_

Harry muttered under his breath in frustration as he scrambled to make another pot. He had to satisfy the orders of the people waiting impatiently outside, the crowd getting larger with each minute.

Harry was a potter, and was quite skilled at molding pots, but never before had he dreamed he was to make enough pots for ninety-nine people.

"Pedal up, pedal down. Faster, you bloody foot!" Harry growled to himself, frantically crafting yet another pot. But try as he might, he just couldn't make the pots looking authentic and made quickly at the same time. He had to choose one or the other and he had chosen the speed.

After finishing another - in his eyes - deformed pot, he carefully placed the pot in the kiln, and quickly set to making another. Why did today just happen to be everyone else's day off? He didn't understand.

"FASTER, FASTER, CAN'T YOU SEE HOW MANY VISITORS WE HAVE, YOU DRATTED HOOLIGAN POTTER?" Mr. Riddle, his employer, screamed from across the room.

"No, Mr. Riddle, I couldn't tell. I'm going at my fastest pace just for the fun of it," Harry muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"WHAT WAS THAT?"

"Who, me? I didn't say anything…" Harry feigned innocence as he molded the pot, his back stiff and aching from bending over.

"DON'T GIVE ME ANY OF YOUR POT, YOUNG MAN!" Mr. Riddle yelled back.

"My _pot_…? Well, how appropriate for this situation…" Harry growled darkly.

"I know. My jokes are lovely." Mr. Riddle snarled. "You dare question my humor? Well… your loss!"

Suddenly, Harry began to feel a melting, shrinking sensation as he dropped the pot, sending it clattering to the floor. The ground began to rise up around him rapidly, and a blur of color began to envelop him, leaving him dizzy.

When the feeling had passed, Harry looked down at himself. It didn't seem like anything was different, except…

Well, maybe a LOT different. For when Harry looked at himself, he saw the round base of a pot.

A… _pot?_

"Yes, a pot," Mr. Riddle said smoothly. "And a flower pot, at that. Stay like that forever, Harry POTter."

_Oh, NO. _Harry was NOT going to live like this for the rest of his life. "Turn me back into my bloody old self!" he tried to scream at the employer, but his voice came out as a miniscule, high-pitched screech.

"My, my, you're possibly even more annoying than when you were a human." Mr. Riddle smiled evilly at the spectacle Harry was making.

"Shut _up._"

"No, _you_." Mr. Riddle snapped his fingers, leaving Harry unable to speak. "That's better. Now, I suppose you want to turn back into a human, yes?"

Harry nodded so hard that he tipped over.

"I _said, _you want to turn back into a human, yes?"

Harry was unable to utter a sound due to restrictions.

"Oh, that's right, I blocked your vocal chords." Harry glared. "Oh, is that a glare? Pitiful."

Harry decided that he wasn't even going to try.

"Alright, to the fun stuff. I am going to sell you, as a pot, to a customer. You, being the wretched creature you are, will do something to displease the customer, which will bring you back here. Once you return, I will turn you you into a different kind of pot. The process will repeat until I run out of ideas. Remember, the faster you return, the faster you'll get to turn into a human. Well, maybe. You see, all good things come with bad things. So just for kicks, I'm going to add in a twist. In order to get turned back into your human self, not that I want you to, I'm going to give you a time limit. You'll get six months. Six months to get yourself here and for me to run out of ideas. Alright, now that that's established, let's begin! My, this'll be a rather fun, fun game!"

_And one-sided, _Harry remarked bitterly.

Without warning, Mr. Riddle suddenly bent down and grabbed Harry, hoisting him up into the air. Harry tried to struggle, but of course, as a pot, his talent at struggling was greatly depleted. Mr. Riddle carried Harry to the front of the shop, where tons of people were pressed to the windows of the shop, banging on it and yelling.

"Let go of me, you bloody manager!" Harry tried to scream, but nothing would come out of his throat.

Mr. Riddle opened the door of the pottery shop and shoved Harry into the person closest to the door. "Take this, you ungrateful lot, and get outta here!" The person grumbled, but turned and stalked off with Harry anyways. Harry could hear Mr. Riddle shouting at the rest of the mob behind him: "No more pots! NO MORE POTS! Go away, and don't ever come back!"

The man holding Harry was muttering to himself. Harry caught some words like "terrible craftsmanship" and "most unprofessional pottery".

_Well, at least this person agrees with me on Mr. Riddle's terrible taste, _Harry grinned to himself.

He was promptly placed into a pedicab - horribly outdated, mind you - and the man began to pedal away. Some near tips and fall-outs later, a neon house with flashing lights that read, "FLASHY? NOPE!" came into view. Harry, if he had hands, would've facepalmed.

Oh jeez. This was going to be an adventure worth remembering - and finding a way out of.

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**Nike: So Dargon and I were just texting, and then we somehow got onto the subject of pots, and then I mentioned Harry POTter, and this happened. **

**Dargon: QUICK INTERRUPTION: SHE WAS SOMEWHERE BERRY FAR, FAR AWAY, AND I WAS NO CLOSER TO HER THAN THE SUN IS FROM THE MOON, AND I HAPPENED TO TAKE SOMETHING SHE SAID SERIOUSLY. WAY TOO SERIOUSLY.**

**Nike: It's only Aussie to EST, man. Like, seven thousand miles. **

**Dargon: IT WAS STILL TERRIBLE! SIXTEEN HOURS AHEAD?! **_**SIXTEEN**__?!_

**Nike: Yeah, but jet lag helps. So, how was this? Entertaining? Boring? A knee-slapper of a fanfic? Review with your thoughts! ^^**

**Dargon: AND THEN MAKE SURE WE GOT THE WHOLE BRITISH THING RIGHT, NOT TO BE STEREOTYPICAL BUT THAT'S HOW THE WORLD WORKS THESE DAYS. EXCUSE ME IF I'M ACTING WEIRD, I GET STRANGE WHEN I'M TIRED.**


End file.
